NeverRememberLand
by ClarySage
Summary: Peter Pan is a forgetful boy. When he's bored he wishes for a new enemy, and Neverland grants his wish. Slash, Peter x ?
1. Default Chapter

Title: NeverRememberLand

Author: ClarySage

Reviews: Please

Rating: pg-13 later R, after that, probably nc17 and over at aff.net

Disclaimer: I don't own the original story, but I do own this, though I make no profit, phooie.

Warnings: This fic contains: weirdness, wordiness, Peter Pan, someone else who you'll find out about soon enough, Neverland, and is based on the book in all its glory.

It was never strange to Peter than he couldn't remember things, people, or faces. He had from the first day of himself been forgetting things, and he was sure it would go on for as long as he continued to be. Time passes oddly in Neverland, it skips beats, and sometimes circles back. It rarely goes forward, though when it does it seems to go with a whoosh and a solid sounding clang, as if some great clock just out of sight has struck an hour.  
  
Peter remembered Wendy, she of the stories and thimbles with kisses. Though he could not recall why there was something missing, nor what it was. Though once, when he'd come back to retrieve Wendy and bring her to Neverland for spring-cleaning, she'd asked after Tinkerbell and Peter in return asked, "Who?"  
  
It did not bother him that Tinkerbell was gone, for he no longer recalled her at all, such was Peter's way. And then again Wendy had asked, "What about Hook?"  
  
Peter had asked back, with a twist between his smooth brows, "Who?"  
  
To Peter an enemy gone no longer existed, and so Captain Hook had faded from memory as well. It was strange that Wendy did not fade, though she did seem to go in waves.  
  
Sometimes a seeming eternity would go on before Peter would want a story from her, and then he would remember, and claim her once more for spring- cleaning. Wendy always told the most enchanting stories, stories all about Peter and his cleverness.  
  
But as happens when life becomes a dull monotonous roar, Peter grew bored. It seemed Wendy was no longer there, though he called for the longest time, she no longer heard him at the window, nor saw his fleeting frame as it flitted outside the glass. So that for a while, Peter forgot Wendy as well, and there was only he to entertain himself.  
  
What Peter craved most of all, more than a shiny new knife, or a wicked fur, was a foe, an enemy to do battle against. He did not recall Hook, certainly, but he did recall the fights between them. Such exciting things they had been, with the clash of blade and hook, and the screams of the dying pirates. Though either Peter or the Captain could have caused their deaths. It was hard to remember the specifics and details. Only the ringing sounds of his jeers and the growls of the Captain as he fought back.  
  
Peter had tried to find an enemy in Neverland, but there were none he felt would be up to the challenge. The Indians though savage were not fighters in the sense of a senseless fight, they only fought to gain food, or to protect one another. So Peter though he tried, could never bring himself to fight with them. The mermaids, though insidious at the best of times were more friends than foe, and so Peter could not raise a hand to them either. Though there were many wild animals to slay, Peter left them mostly alone as well, preferring to hunt only when it was absolutely needed, as sometimes it seemed more like work than play.  
  
So it was Peter found himself creating a new enemy as easily as we whip up a cake or a roast with potatoes. He wished for it, and Neverland, in its guileless way granted his wish.  
  
Watch now as the rays of the sun point their arrows of liquid gold towards Neverland, and a shadow lengthens on the beach near the Lagoon. Here walks Peter himself, everyone in Neverland knows him, as he in turn knows everyone in Neverland. His shadow lies behind him and refuses to join him as he tiptoes across the little waves that dash along the shore like agitated lace. Peter had seen something strange, which even he with his cleverness could not name.  
  
A shadow had fallen into the sea, not unlike Peter's own shadow, and so he had followed its plummet and now searched for what was sure to be a crater in the ocean from the landing of it. But try as he might, and search as he could, he could not find the strange sight that had descended so ungracefully.  
  
"It must be a small thing to leave no dent," he said to the breeze that whispered through his hair.  
  
But at last, Peter quite forgot the thing that had fallen, and went off in search of some other entertainment. Though his shadow looked uncertainly upon the waves as Peter flew off, convinced that there was something amiss.  
  
As soon as Peter had distanced himself from the Lagoon and the water, and his shadow had wandered back to him, a strange and irregular wave lapped at the shore. It grew, and shuddered and eventually a single green eye appeared from the foam to search the beach warily. It was soon joined by a face that held another green eye, and then by the form of a very familiar size.  
  
The boy, for that was indeed what it was, climbed from the water shaking droplets like rainfall and padded quietly across the sand towards the trees that lined up not far away. He was nude, and small, though muscled in a way that spoke volumes of his pastimes and skills. His hair seemed familiar, a halo of gold that sparkled oddly, as if it held the sun inside it long after the sun had said goodnight.  
  
A mermaid cautiously poked her head from the water to watch the progress of the boy, and then sank silently beneath the dark waters. Another mermaid poked up, glanced along the beach and then too, slipped below. Soon several beautifully shining heads of hair bobbed up and down, each mermaid taking a turn to see this strange event. For what each saw was something they had always seen; only they knew this could not be the same. They knew, because there was only one Peter Pan, and therefore, this could not be he.  
  
Days in Neverland pass as if from the view of a child, always a little askew. Sometimes they can last as with a summer, never long enough, and as with winter, always a little too long. So Peter's days were, boredom to centuries, and fun in the blink of an eye. Though sometimes they would reverse, but Peter held that this was only kept for special occasions like a silver tea set or the good china.  
  
The wind was sighing through the limbs of the trees and rattling leaves, as Peter lay along a branch and watched the progress of a line of ants. They had found a sweet patch of sticky sap from which to gather, and now they heaved and hoed in an amazing manner. Each one a tiny workman, so that Peter felt that at any moment he aught to see one standing slightly aside with a whip, and a cone in which to holler orders.  
  
A sliver of sound meandered its way across the trees, filtering in and out and around, dancing in a way that only music can, with freedom, movement, and mysticism. It nestled between Peter's shoulder blades and wriggled against his neck before it slipped into his ears like honey, sweet, slightly dangerous, and still containing the memory of bees.  
  
Peter was unused to hearing music like this other than from his own set of pipes, which in a glance he reassured himself were still by his side. With a thought he was gliding on the wind that sighed so softly, his ears pricking from the stings of the musical bees as he went in search of the source of the sound.  
  
Near a corner of the forest, where paths of sea and land met in a wet kiss of sand and water, there was a pocket as if ripped from an old coat. It was ragged and shaped in a rough U of fringed trees, a miniature hillock of green, flowers in clumps, vines that nestled as if snakes in hidden spots. In this little valley of a pocket sat a boy, there was a straightness to his spine and a tilt to his head that seemed familiar. His golden hair reflected the sky and his face was turned just out of reach of the eye.  
  
Peter was at once a thrill of excitement; at last a new boy had come to Neverland to replace the ones he had lost. At last someone to play and fight with, boss and bully, and to nestle against when the cold was too much and the heat too little. His heart, which never spoke to him but always whispered to his ego, cried out a sheer scream of joy and Peter at once rushed to his new comrade, for surely that was the only thing this boy could be.  
  
But his enthusiasm slapped the ground with a palpable force and sound when the boy turned. If Peter had known what a mirror was he could have named the image that faced him, though instead he merely cried, "I know you!" At this the boy made a face of such familiarity that Peter's own expression in turn screwed up to echo it in sympathy.  
  
"And I know you," said the entirely too known voice, for of course it was Peter's own.  
  
"What is your name, if you know me so well?" Peter asked at once, all cleverness and pride.  
  
"Why you should know it as surely as you know in which direction lies the sun, for it reflects yours like the water to the setting of the rays."  
  
"Then it would be Nap!" cried Peter, grinning like a thief as he felt he'd stolen this answer from a well-locked vault.  
  
"Nap Retep, of course," agreed the boy with nonchalance.  
  
Peter frowned then, he may have never learned to spell or to write, but the name of the boy struck him as his own, which seemed a new and strange thing. Peter didn't really care for strange new things unless they were his own idea.  
  
At once he thought to assert himself, he was Peter Pan, and all who had come before had been under his leadership, there was no reason this boy should be any different. "You'll follow my lead and be my new boy," Peter told Nap in all seriousness.  
  
"I won't."  
  
But instead of a sharply rapped 'you will' Peter shrugged. "We can work out a deal like the Redskins then, and make a trade," he said in what he thought was a rather reasonable way.  
  
"No."  
  
Anger from Peter was a rare thing, or any emotion above gladness, but now his temper came to life, circling like a shark fin on windy waters. It shone silver and looked dangerous if seen from the wrong angle. "I shall give you reason." Peter said, not normally a cruel or insensitive boy but always a leader and king.  
  
"And I will give it back," said Nap, just as calmly.  
  
"Anything I give you, you should be glad to take!" and now Peter's voice rose, beginning the climb of a short mountain.  
  
"I'll take what I want, whether you give it or not!" and Nap stood, coming face to face with Peter. Both boys clenching their hands into fists, each glare a replica.  
  
Unnoticed by the two boys, sparks began to gather, like the light from fairies. It danced about them, touching here or there but never seeming to settle.  
  
"I am always leader," Peter said hotly.  
  
"I am always leader!" Nap shouted.  
  
The sparks gathered into a bright, hot flame, much like anger itself - the air becoming heavy around them, pressure filling ears and electrifying the hair on arms. It was as if a storm were coming, and quickly, scudding in from the sea and gathering forces as it rode.  
  
Nap swung first, his fist leaving a void behind it as it arced towards Peter, a flame in its path.  
  
It was this that broke the storm.


	2. NeverRememberLand 2

* * *

Title: NeverRememberLand

Author: ClarySage

Reviews: Please

Rating: pg-13 later R, after that, probably nc17 and over at aff.net

Disclaimer: I don't own the original story, but I do own this, though I make no profit, phooie.

Warnings: This fic contains: weirdness, wordiness, Peter Pan, someone else who you'll find out about soon enough, Neverland, and is based on the book in all its glory. also SLASH, which means boy with boy.

Neverland had always moved to Peter's whim. It was a part of Peter as Peter was a part of it, they were connected and the same, though different in landmass. A brief clarification of Pan's memory would probably explain at the same time the way in which Neverland worked.  
  
Peter was a boy who never wanted to grow up, he baldy refused; neither cajoling nor begging would ever change his mind. He liked being a boy, and so if there is something needed to retain that permanent state of childhood, it is the lack of a good memory.  
  
Many a time had Peter been injured, near killed, betrayed, lied to and hurt. His friends had died, drowned, scalped, or even hooked. Yet always, Peter forgot these travesties and events to weep over, retreating into the soothing balm of forgetfulness.  
  
Neverland helped him, also wanting to retain the permanence of his boyhood. So that each time Peter were gravely injured it would heal him, and each painful memory would fade, so that with each new wound, it was always the first. Yet in the morning, or evening, or even a few moments past having his body slit open, Peter would forget, and so too would his very skin, closing the wounds and healing them so that no scar ever showed.  
  
If Peter had taken the time to ask, he would have found that Nap was the exact opposite. But that is a story that will come later.  
  
Now we return to the fight in progress, as Nap's golden fist has swung, we see Peter catch it easily and twist. A cry of pain falls from Nap's lips like a shimmering jewel of red and then their hands lock in a primal competitive form.  
  
The sparks, which had changed so readily to flame, are forgotten, and the golden veil that begins to cover the boys seems a wall of rage. Inside the blinding light the two boys struggle for dominance. Peter could use his knife to the advantage, but always Peter is a fair fighter, believing in honor and valour with more determination than a knight of the table.  
  
Nap has no knife, and is barely clothed, not having had the time since his awakening and landing. The pipes he'd been playing had been his first thought, the second to find something to cover his nibbly bits. The third was to find a weapon, but first he'd played to attract Pan. As he fights he brings up a knee, for Nap is not a fair fighter, he knows what Peter doesn't, that to fight dirty can mean to win the fight.  
  
It is with a great shock that Peter crumples to his knees, the pain of an injured groin like none he's felt before. Though of course he has, and has merely forgotten it. But before a worry can begin, Peter is on his feet once more, more wary now that a lesson has been learned.  
  
To Peter's distress, he feels a little like laughing, and much to his deep shame, he thinks he might be enjoying himself. Luckily, Peter never holds shame for long, and lets it slip from him with the ease of greased eels. His eyes meet Nap's and a strange thrill tingles up and down his spine. He could try to define it, but having never felt the same before, he is unable to fit a word to it.  
  
Neverland lay in the throes of a crisis, for always before it had only had one master, one slave. Now it seemed to have two. As they warred with one another the sky split, bolts of lightning and a wall of rain moving across the island. Birds flew from the trees in flocks of brightly coloured feathers; the redskins shivered and tucked themselves tighter within their blankets and skins. The mermaids ducked beneath the water, finding their homes quickly and slamming the doors with the sharp jangle of chimes. The faeries flew as fast as possible for their trees and hollows, insults made of fear like the tiny tinkle of bells following them.  
  
Peter grinned suddenly, lifting his face to the coming storm with a laugh, the sparkle in his green eyes seemed to be lit from behind, the fire of battle lust lighting them. "I will win!" he crowed with delight.  
  
"Will you?" Nap's eyes reflected his own, his lips twisted into an echo of Peter's manic grin.  
  
For a moment, Peter doubted, the sparkle fading from his eyes, his body relaxed into the hands tightening around his neck. "I have to," he whispered.  
  
It was hard for Peter to draw out a happy thought, all of them having deserted him, but with a great effort he managed to extract one from his elusive memories. It lifted him from the ground; Nap's hands still round his neck, dragging the other boy with him. Though Peter found it harder to laugh, he laughed never the less, a wicked little chuckle.  
  
In moments they were in the air, separating and coming together again with an audible thump as their bodies met. They broke apart, each panting, then once more grappled for the upper hand. Rain began to fall on them, heavy as rocks and just as painful. Fists met bodies and wet hair, fingernails slid against damp and slippery skin. Peter couldn't seem to wipe off the grin of pure ecstasy that lifted his mouth into a curvaceous appeal.  
  
Then, much to the surprise of both, a blow from each sent the other tumbling through the air. They faced one another from a distance, and then as if speaking and agreeing on a thought, they flew higher, arms stretched towards the clouds, racing upwards.  
  
Peter danced on a cloudbank, toes curling around the heavy fluff, crouching low, hands raised to defend. Nap flew past, circled so he lay on his back and gestured to Peter to follow, one insolent brow raised in challenge.  
  
Their first fight went on for days, neither ever winning any more than the other, and Neverland breathed a sigh, as at last it had found an enemy Peter couldn't beat.  
  
The battle went around the world, in a ball of light and flame it chased across the night sky. Adults thought it a falling star or meteor, children knew better and swore they could see two figures locked in combat inside the light. But of course parents dismissed that and merely laughed at the whimsy.  
  
It at last ended four days after it had began, both boys falling into the sea in exhaustion, only the help of a shoal of mermaids guiding them to Marooners' Rock saving them from drowning.  
  
Peter lay with his arms extended above his head, eyes filled with the dazzling light of the sun as he stared into the heavens. Nap lay beside him, one arm cradled to his chest, a look of pain scudding across his face. Peter's injuries though as great as Nap's had already begun to fade with his memories.  
  
Strangely, some memories do stay with Peter, though it is always hard to say which ones they are. Certainly some of his less innocent memories have never been forgotten, just as some adventures he can still recall in a vague way. If it were to be described, think of it as a sieve run through with water and gravel. The rocks are his memories, and they are all different sizes and colours. With each wash of adventure, the rocks are whittled away, though occasionally a new rock will fall with the water and contain a memory.  
  
"You're sure you won't be my new boy?" Peter asked, lifting himself into an aching sitting position.  
  
"Never," Nap said.  
  
"I think it's all right," Peter said, a small smile tilting one corner of his mouth. He pondered for a moment, and then asked, "Where did you come from?"  
  
"Neverland," Nap responded immediately.  
  
"So have I!" cried Peter, pleased.  
  
"Don't you remember?"  
  
"Remember what?"  
  
"We are enemies."  
  
"We are?" Peter turned to Nap with wide eyes and a guileless smile. "Why, we must be friends, otherwise how else do I know you?"  
  
Nap sat up in surprise, wincing as his injured arm bounced against his chest. "Don't you know who I am?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Nap, Retep?" Nap asked, eyebrows rising.  
  
"And I'm Peter Pan," Peter said, holding out a hand and then titling his head in puzzlement when Nap did not except it.  
  
"You really don't recall?" Nap asked curiously.  
  
"Ah, well, when you see me forgetting, remind me of your name, and then I should begin to remember you."  
  
"I'm Nap," Nap tried, just in case Peter had already forgotten.  
  
"I know that now," Peter remarked, curling his ankles beneath himself and glancing at the water that was beginning to rise into the crevices on Marooners' Rock.  
  
"Don't you want to know more?"  
  
"Why?" Peter stood and brushed himself off, all signs of their fight erased with the simple gesture.  
  
"Don't I look familiar to you?"  
  
"Yes, like someone I know." Peter thought of something delightful and rose in the air. "I think I can carry you as far as shore if you can't."  
  
Nap merely nodded and reached out to clutch the arm Pan offered. "I should kill you in the air," he whispered into Peter's ear.  
  
"Where's the fun in that?" They lifted a slight distance above the water, toes covered with sea froth, and like a very slow, wobbly bird flew towards the shore of the lagoon.  
  
The sun was setting the sky to red, a scarlet hue that thinned into pinks and yellows as it reached its dying fingers into the atmosphere above. The people of Neverland already were preparing for the night. The animals in the forest became predators with shining eyes and sharp teeth, and what was benign in light became deadly in the dark.  
  
The moon was just making its appearance when Pan finally led Nap into the clearing that contained the small house he and the Lost Boys had built for Wendy so long ago. It was up in a tall tree, nearly camouflaged and hidden within the greenery. Since Peter had been alone for so long, it seemed this had always been his home, with its little red walls and green moss roof. Forgotten was the hall beneath the ground and the seven trees with their hollowed out entrances.  
  
As soon as Peter entered the little house he seemed to forget entirely his guest and went at once to his bed where he fell into sleep with the ease of exhaustion. Nap eyed the sleeping boy, wondering why now his hand seemed staid when his enemy was the weakest.  
  
Nap was too newly created to have thought through much of anything, so that each new question brought with it a barrel more. He knew that he remembered what Peter could not, and so could not forget an injury as easily, and yet it seemed already he was healing. Neverland would not take away what it had given one only to lose the other.  
  
Peter slept on, unaware, carelessly sprawled across the nook of his bed in one corner of the tiny house. So peaceful and innocent in his sleep, arms flung out as if to embrace all adventures, one leg cocked up at the knee and the other tucked beneath it. His face still wore the overconfident expression it did in wakefulness, a small smile tilting up one corner of his mouth. Nap could not bring himself to kill the sleeping boy and so with a sigh of regret curled up nearby on the floor, his arm already forgetting its damage, though he could not. 

-tbc-


	3. nrl 3

Title: NeverRememberLand

Author: ClarySage

Reviews: Please

Rating: pg-13 later R, after that, probably nc17 and over at aff.net

Disclaimer: I don't own the original story, but I do own this, though I make no profit, phooie.

Warnings: This fic contains: weirdness, wordiness, Peter Pan, someone else who you'll find out about soon enough, Neverland, and is based on the book in all its glory.

When Pan awoke it was like the swing of a butterfly's wings, gentle and serene. Always he woke in this way, memories sliding away to be taken up by the sun in its glory and the whisper of the winds through his treetop. On this morning, Pan was a bit surprised to see a boy asleep at the side of his bed, one arm curled against his chest, and his face a familiar thing. Pan carefully nudged the boy with a toe and grinned when he sat up, eyes wide and already his body curling up and into a defensive position.  
  
"Nap!" Peter shouted, rather proud that he could recall the name of the boy, though he could not recall much of anything else. "Come, let us hunt." Peter casually threw a quiver of arrows and a bow at Nap's feet.  
  
Nap wanted to say how they were not friends, and that if they should hunt together it would be more than likely that he would shoot Peter with an arrow rather than any beast they might hunt. Instead he let his face fall into a relaxed and happy expression, his eyes free from betrayal. "Of course."  
  
Down they flew from the little red house, light as feathers with happy thoughts. Peter at once crouched low, bringing a single finger to his lips, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the forest surrounding them. With a metallic glide of sound he withdrew his dagger from its sheath at his waist and crept across the grass silently as any other creature of the wilds.  
  
It must be explained to the dear reader why Nap did not like Peter, and why his heart was so set on the death of him. Neverland had created after all the perfect enemy, for no enemy is greater than you yourself. In its scattered thoughts, if a land can be said to think at all, Neverland assured itself that this enemy would never die, nor would it truly ever kill Peter, and so forever a battle could rage, at the last leaving Peter with both a friend and a foe.  
  
The opposite of everything Peter was, was what Nap had been made into. For each thing Peter had forgotten, Nap remembered, the only thing they shared were skills that cannot be forgotten. Such as hunting, flying, foraging, and the brutal innocence of a child. Nap knew the things Peter never would, and he remembered all the betrayals and hurts in a way that would never leave. For this, he wanted Peter to die, for no one can remain innocent with too much knowledge, the weight of it stretching limbs and forcing one into adulthood with all its horrible honesty.  
  
There was no freedom for Nap, blissfully forgotten cuts and broken bones, pokes of daggers or swords, bruises and blood, all of it Nap remembered, when he knew by all rights he had never experienced any of it. There was only Peter to blame, free and wild as he was from any worry, everything about him that had so bothered Hook bothered Nap.  
  
Yet, deeper down, Nap also knew as well as he knew these great pains and hurts, that he could never truly kill Peter, he couldn't kill himself. Though Peter may have never seen a mirror nor known its name, Nap knew everything Peter did not, and knew as well they were opposites of the same thing. It was an agony he didn't know what to do with, still freshly a stranger to Neverland, Peter's presence and at times, his own mind.  
  
Ahead of him Peter's boyish grin and golden flame of hair surged through the underbrush with barely a rustle. Nap followed, just as silent, just as dangerous, his eyes calculating not the prey in the bushes, but instead the prey of himself just ahead. Neverland's perfect enemy was neither friend nor foe at all, but instead a reflection. And as in all reflections all points are shown depending on the light. Some are dark and ugly while other features are beautiful and perfectly formed. In this way too does the mind work, at once a gruesome thing in a shimmering shell of gem.  
  
Peter's reflection was the darkness hidden in the light.  
  
As they hunted, Nap grew vague and hazy within his own head; memories kept coming back to him with each new piece of scenery. Here was where the crocodile lived; there was the entrance to the fairy woods, beyond that was the path to the Redskin camp. Nap did not notice when he sank to his knees, eyes glazing with a memory so deep that it felt like falling into a hole.  
  
Faintly he could hear Peter call his name, a hand shaking his shoulder, but already it was too late, for Peter's memories were attacking. The things he'd forgotten, the things that would have ruined his innocence, now they surged through Nap's head, battering at his consciousness with iron fists. With a shuddering sigh, Nap slowly slipped sideways, his eyes closing as his head bounced gently off the turf.  
  
Wendy had asked after this adventure, when Peter had come home covered in mermaid scales, unable to say where he had been. Peter had then been unable to say what had happened other than an adventure, but Nap remembered.  
  
He had been flying above the waters of the lagoon, eyes on the waves as they moved to and never fro. Upon circling and coming lower he'd seen then a sight that no one in Neverland had ever seen before, and so rightly, it was Peter that was the first to see it.  
  
A cluster of mermaids surrounded something, and the oddest cooing sounds bounced off Marooners' Rock, a strange call, endearing and entreating. As Peter flew closer and lower, he could see it was merely another mermaid that the others surrounded, and yet, there seemed a difference between this one and all the others.  
  
In all the life of Neverland, no one before had seen a male mermaid, only ever were the females visible, with their shining hair and small breasts, the opalescent scales shimmering up their backs and over their shoulders like small, flat gems. Peter had never really wondered where then the baby mermaids came from, for he has seen them, playing with the older ones, tiny and much like a school of fish in their play.  
  
Like most fish the mermaids mated by the laying of eggs, and then the fertilization of such. Only, no one had ever seen it of course, nor had they seen the mermaid eggs. It took Peter a moment to realize what he was seeing, and in the instant of his recognition, a shrill thrill of fear echoed down his spine.  
  
Staring up from the circle of mermaids was the only male of the species, the father of all, the King of the Sea. Unlike the others, he did not appear to have scales at all, but instead the smooth roughness of sharkskin. His eyes were the endless depth of black found in the deep trenches of the ocean, his hair a mass of silver that looked as smooth and dangerous as his skin. And when he opened his mouth, to roar a challenge it was filled with the danger of a shark's mouth as well, deadly teeth pointed and sharp.  
  
Peter circled warily, lower and lower, noticing then too, the large fin that protruded from the male's back, the tail beneath the water that wavered like that of a shark as well. It was Peter's mistake to fly even lower, always after the better look, the knowledge no one else had.  
  
He had just circled again, nearly able to touch the strange creature, when suddenly the Sea King let out a terrible howl, scattering the mermaids that surrounded him as if they were a startled school of fish in the presence of a predator. At that Peter decided not to look any closer and shot upwards, only, something held him back. The clamp of cold hands on his ankles, and in the deepest fear Pan had ever felt, he was dragged downwards by the shark-like King of the mermaids.  
  
The water had closed over his head, his heart hammering within his chest as if it would burst free and run away of its own accord. But instead of the sharp pain of teeth ripping him apart, he merely was held against the prickly scales of the King, almost gently. The water broke over his head and he drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes.  
  
The dark, obsidian eyes of the King looked more chilling up close, their blankness and depth so bottomless Peter felt he'd fall into them. Then, as Peter watched, the eyes seemed to shrink, until Peter realized it was not the eyes, but the blackness rolling back, circling until it became only a dark pupil surrounded by a vivid blue.  
  
Peter glanced down in the water, finding too that the King's scales were no longer that of sharkskin but in an echo of his eyes had become a stunning subterranean blue, the fin on his back looking now more like that of a sailfish, wave shaped and streaked with blacks and purples, teals and even a shot of yellow. Peter once more looked into the King's eyes, and shivered with the ecstatic terror of it all.  
  
This time, when the King opened his mouth, no longer was it filled with the horror of a shark's mouth, but instead it had normal pearly white teeth, straight and even. The King's breath smelled not of fish but of ocean, salty and hot like the sun on the water on a hot day. His voice seemed to whisper within Peter's head, soundless and yet a vibration that trembled down his spine. The powerful arms hauled him closer still, until he was eye to eye with the King, the colour again changing, the blackness of pupils fading and roiling like clouds in a storm.  
  
Peter closed his eyes again, unable to meet that mystical gaze, terrified beyond reason. It was then that he first felt the strange tug between his legs, as if some gentle force had pulled at his inner being, as if it meant to drag it out of his body. A wash of pleasure suffused Peter, a swirling in his gut that at once felt sickening and yet delightful. Fearful and curious Peter opened his eyes and glanced down to find the King's palm resting low on his belly, the large hand curling over the little protuberance of Pan's abdomen. It flexed and Peter screamed, a wash of pleasure so great suffusing him that he felt he might faint from it.  
  
The King dragged him closer still, arms stronger than tides pulling him in, until almost gently Peter felt a nuzzling against his forehead, could smell the salty breath against his cheek. Without meaning to, his legs wrapped around the King, his arms cut as they tried to hold onto the King's dorsal fin, the spines of which tore into the tender skin of his arms. In an abandoned state of debauchery, Peter rode the waves of pleasure that the King sent through him, each one greater than the last, until it felt as if he might wash away with the tsunami of it all.  
  
It seemed as if it might never end, only growing greater with each flex of the King's fingers, scales plastering Peter's body as he writhed against the cold flesh. The waves of pleasure were cresting now, higher and higher with each one, until at last Peter felt as if his body had burst, uncontrollable shivers and shakes twitching him into a mindless frenzy.  
  
When he opened his eyes, it was the find again the eyes of the King changing, now the colour shifted, a golden shade falling over them, a sliver of silver invading the pupils. The scales upon the King's body shimmered and changed as well, becoming as golden as the rays of the sun; and his hair, no longer the gray and silver of a shark, echoed Peter's own head of hair in all its golden glory. With a soft murmur the King released Pan; nodding gravely to the boy before with a flip of an enormous golden tail, he sank beneath the waters as if he'd never been.  
  
For a long time, Peter floated on the water, salt glazing his lips, his body still throbbing in curious ways. Hours passed and eventually Peter found that when he opened his eyes he was staring up at treetops, waving greenery and the azure blue of the Neverland sky. He could not remember what had happened, though he knew it had to have been a great adventure, and the scales coating his skin, though not like any mermaid's he'd seen before, could only wink at him in the dying light of the sun, as if to tease him for his lack of memory.

-tbc-


	4. neverrememberland 4

Title: NeverRememberLand

Author: ClarySage

Reviews: Please

Rating: pg-13 later R, after that, probably nc17 and over at aff.net

Disclaimer: I don't own the original story, but I do own this, though I make no profit, phooie.

Warnings: This fic contains: weirdness, wordiness, Peter Pan, someone else who you'll find out about soon enough, Neverland, and is based on the book in all its glory.

It was with an immense heaviness that Nap swam back to the surface of consciousness, his mind still clinging to the memories of the sun and the wash of the water. Sitting up he at once realized he was alone, and wondered if perhaps Peter had already forgotten him. It was with a turn of his head that the memory came back suddenly, sharp as a knife.  
  
A small group of mermaids played in the water between the trees; he could just see their tiny figures and blond hair. That was what had done it then, so easily capturing his mind in dreams of what had been. And he suddenly knew what too the King of the sea had taken from him...from Pan.  
  
Each petite mermaid had not only the blond hair, but as well the occasional sparkling green eye could be seen flashing in a wink. The golden scales rippled upon them, and Nap knew they were Peter's just as they were his. The King had taken Peter's patterning and cut of cloth as if to make a costume, in what way might never been known, though perhaps it was a shortage and the King stole from all he could.  
  
The way the King had kept shifting in colour and shape, now Nap understood, why the last change had been to gold and silver. It had been Peter he'd stolen that day, and yet he'd left behind Peter as well. But then, the ways of fish were assuredly different from those of men, and so it should only make sense that the King could steal in this way.  
  
Nap started in surprise when Peter sat down beside him, handing over a large shell with fresh water in it. Then he hadn't been forgotten, which was something new. Though it was true, Peter could remember some things if reminded of them often enough. Nap wondered if he could remind Peter of his memories, and erase them from his own that way. Perhaps if Peter remembered some things, then Nap could forget them.  
  
"Those are strange mermaids," Peter told Nap offhandedly, offering up a boyish grin.  
  
"They are, aren't they?" Nap wondered where to begin, and suddenly he knew. "I'm sure it was the Sea King."  
  
"What?" Peter asked curiously. For Peter could never resist the knowledge of something he did not know. He used to make sure the Lost Boys never knew anything he himself did not, but Nap seemed different than that. And for once Peter could not bring himself to play his normal games. Even though Nap dressed too closely to Peter, and he looked too similar, Peter did not want to change him.  
  
"The Sea King, but then, you don't remember him, of course. You never remember. But I do."  
  
"What do you remember?" Peter took back the empty shell and laid it to one side, cocking his head and raising his shoulders. He did not bother to question that Nap knew things he did not, and that he seemed to know things Peter should. Perhaps Neverland itself was intruding then, though it may never be known for sure.  
  
"Everything you've forgotten, I remember. Everything you've lost, I've found." Nap said solemnly, glaring out at the mermaids in the distance. "Each betrayal you've had, I feel. Each scar that's faded I've watched heal."  
  
"But, why?" It was not often Peter's expression took on such hurt curiosity. Pain was always such a foreign thing to him he never quite knew how to deal with it.  
  
"I am you r reflection, I am your opposite in all things."  
  
"Are you?" Peter at once sat up straight, his normal conceit firmly sliding back into place. "Then you are like my shadow, and should stick to me."  
  
"No! I am more than a mere shadow."  
  
Peter reached out and patted one of Nap's arms, and then he pinched the skin of one shoulder rather sharply. "You seem real enough, more solid than my shadow. But you cannot be me, there's only one of me, and I'm it."  
  
"I'm not you!" Nap cried in annoyance. "And I am not your shadow!"  
  
"And you are not my new lost boy, and you are certainly not a fairy. So what are you?"  
  
"How did you get here?" Nap tried, swerving his thoughts onto a new track.  
  
"I ran away the night I was born."  
  
"You didn't."  
  
"I did! I heard my mother and father talking about-"  
  
"No! You didn't. You merely say this because you think it is true. But I know the truth."  
  
"You cannot know anything I don't!" Peter shouted, by now quite upset by this turn of events. It was frustrating to have a new boy who would not follow a single order, nor admit that he, Peter, was the leader. For one of the few times he could remember, Peter abruptly felt like crying.  
  
Now it was not true that Nap had none of the kinder emotions, for emotions of love and caring were always somewhat unknown to Peter, deny them as he did. At once Nap felt ashamed of his shouting and wondered at how to comfort the boy beside him. Though just as quickly he knew he could not, should not, and would not. "I know everything you don't," he said instead, and rather cruelly.  
  
"NO!" and Peter was in the air and away just as fast as could be, a blur of leaves and skin in the sky.  
  
Nap stared after him for a long moment, and then slowly picked up the bow and quiver that lay beside him and began walking back towards the little house in the trees. Sooner or later Peter would come to understand whether he wanted to or not, and he would remember even if it did the worst thing possible, and made the forever boy grow up. Nap would see to it, he would force Peter to remember the memories that hurt, and the memories that were so beautiful they shone in the darkness of his forgetful mind. "Pan or me," he whispered to sea and the sky, and walked home.  
  
Already daylight was leaving Neverland as it tended to on a daily basis. The sky slipping into a nightgown of peaches and reds, its hair carefully arranged with stars and comets, awaiting its lover the moon. Peter sat atop the little house, eyes faraway as he gazed into the middle distance, his lips pursed in the playing of his pipes. Whenever Peter was upset he could only seem to find solace in the music, in the cloying notes that hung from the branches around him.  
  
Though already he had forgotten things, a few stray thoughts would not leave, and he was forced nearly to spite himself and remember Nap's words. Like deep bells they rang and rang, louder and hollower with each repetition.  
  
Peter wondered if it was true, if Nap really did remember everything Peter could not. If it were true, then he also knew all the stories Peter had forgotten, and that could be a wonderful thing. For Peter loved nothing more than to hear stories about himself. There were also things he'd like to ask, adventures that had left behind a scent and a feeling, but nothing more.  
  
He blew thoughtfully into his pipes, letting the melody wander and wind its way wherever it thought to go.  
  
"You may wonder where the pipes came from," a familiar voice said from beneath Peter.  
  
Peter did not stop in his playing, tilting his head to eye Nap who stood below looking up.  
  
"It was a story you heard, about the pipes. You don't remember it though, because I do."  
  
A shrill note leapt from the pipes and knocked all the other notes down from the tree branches.  
  
"I do remember everything you don't, only, it doesn't all come at once, and it's not all there laid out for me. Things need to remind me, and now those pipes remind me of how they came to be."  
  
The sound changed again, becoming frisky and curious as a puppy. It leapt from branch to branch and sniffed with vigor at Nap.  
  
"Unlike you, I don't claim to know everything that I don't know. So I will tell you the story, if you wish." Nap tried not to let his elation show as Peter slowly nodded though he kept playing the pipes. "It was a small house, and the single light down below attracted you, inside you could hear your favorite thing, a new story. And so you settled in to listen..."  
  
There was once a land different and yet the same as ours, in which lived people called gods. One god was named Pan. Yes, just like you. Pan was a god with the bottom half of a goat and the top of a man. He had a love of music, dancing and women, and one day he was out wandering the land when he spotted a beautiful nymph by the name of Syrinx. But his appearance terrified her and she ran from him.  
  
As Pan was about to catch her she sent a fervent wish to the earth and it was granted. She at once turned into a clump of reeds. Distraught, Pan fell down amongst the reeds and sighed heavily. The reeds caught his breath and amplified it plaintively. Pan was intrigued and plucked seven of the reeds, cutting them into different lengths, and binding them together. So was born the instrument called the Syrinx, though later it merely held the name of its creator and became the Panpipes.  
  
Nap glanced up at Peter again, the sound had finally stopped, and Peter was all ears for the story. "You thought it was such a great idea that you at once flew back to Neverland, and though you had never yet seen any reeds of that sort you knew there must be some. You searched the island for many days and then at last, as if in an answer to your wish you came upon a clump of reeds just as had been told in the story. You plucked them, discovering them to be much tougher than you'd been led to believe by the story. It took you a few more days to figure out the right sizes and how to bind them, but eventually you got it right and made your first set of pipes."  
  
Peter was carefully eyeing his pipes, as if they were something he'd never seen before. He'd never really considered where they might have come from, and the thought that they were not his idea bothered him greatly. They seemed a great deal more foreign then they had ever been.  
  
"You named yourself then, always before you'd been just Peter, but forever after that story, you became Pan as well."  
  
Peter wanted to say that this couldn't be true, it was all a lie, but deep inside, buried beneath countless adventures, he knew it was the truth. He glared at his pipes, wishing to throw them as far away as possible, yet too connected to them to do so. At last he bowed his head, full of confusion. "It is as you say, isn't it?"  
  
"I would not lie to myself, nor to you."  
  
Peter stared at Nap for a long moment, as if weighing the possibilities of truth and lies, and then he stared at the pipes in his hand again. "I wonder if the reeds were really a woman, and if that is who sings when I play."  
  
"It is hard to say," Nap responded, climbing up onto the roof to join Peter. He pulled out the set of pipes he'd made himself upon waking in Neverland, understanding now why he'd made them before even finding himself something to cover his nakedness with. "The reeds have grown back from when you cut them so long ago. And you might wonder how long it has been. For now they are a tall clump, thick and dense, as if many years have passed."  
  
Peter sat still, eyeing the twin sets of pipes, though his own seemed more tarnished with age then did Nap's set. "You know all the stories I've forgotten," he said at last, almost wistfully.  
  
"I do."  
  
"I don't know if I want to know them," Peter admitted, a worried look to his eyes. "What if I begin to remember?"  
  
"Then you can hold them yourself, and I can forget them at the last."  
  
"Do you hate them so?"  
  
"Some, though some I think to hold forever, and never let you see."  
  
"That's very cruel."  
  
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" and Nap smiled in a sly way.  
  
Pan grinned in return, gazing off into the trees with a thoughtful air. "Yes."

-tbc-


	5. nrl 5

Title: NeverRememberLand 

Author: ClarySage

Reviews: Please

Rating: pg-13 later R, after that, probably nc17 and over at aff.net

Disclaimer: I don't own the original story, but I do own this, though I make no profit, phooie.

Warnings: This fic contains: weirdness, wordiness, Peter Pan, someone else who you'll find out about soon enough, Neverland, and is based on the book in all its glory.

Neverland lay with the blankets of night pulled over its head, as if to shield itself from the monsters that hid beneath the bed. In the forest the sounds of the beasts waking and hunting was the soft 'shuffshuff' of breathing and the hidden tang of claws. Tiny lights swayed and swung here and there, fairies on drunken dancing sprees. Peter gazed into the night sky from his perch on the roof. His arms folded behind his head for a pillow, legs angled to keep him from sliding off. He couldn't stop thinking about the things Nap had told him.  
  
Peter liked when he didn't remember things, it made it so much easier to go on to the next adventure, forgetting the consequences of the last. But now it sat under his skin as an itch of curiosity that he was desperate to scratch. What other adventures had he forgotten? What was it that he could never seem to remember, for he knew there was a story there, somewhere, buried like treasure in the darkness of a cave.  
  
He knew if it were to be opened, gems and gold, long necklaces of pearls, and sprays of diamonds would be inside. But he also wondered, would there be a skeleton? Would its ratty clothes and hollow eyes speak of some great misfortune? Perhaps it was best to leave the bones alone, leave the treasure chest unopened.  
  
Yet, Peter, like most boys, could not stop thinking of the treasure, which far outshone the fear. It winked at him from the corner of his imagination, flashes of rubies and emeralds. Peter had always been a pirate at heart, and now it was singing 'yo ho me hearties' and brandishing a sword.  
  
There is a time of night in Neverland when even the stars go to sleep, each one winking out, curling onto its bed of the cosmos and breathing with faint snores of dust. Peter had lain on the little green roof of the house for most of the night, eventually falling asleep curled up against the top hat-chimney, one arm circling it with care. Sleep was one of the few times when memories were free, when for a brief time they came back to Pan, flashing as colours and sounds behind his closed eyelids.  
  
When he awoke he could never recall what it was he had seen, and so it never bothered him when he had his nightmares, except at the point when he was having one. If he could remember, he would recall someone's soothing touch on his shoulders and head, a soft voice uttering gentle statements that made the mares stop running and return to the darkness. But Wendy had gone long ago, so that Peter had forgotten her as much as he'd forgotten the Lost Boys or Tinkerbell. Now when he had nightmares, there was no one to step in and make them go back, and so he rode the mares through the blackest part of the night, when our darkest fears shroud the world.  
  
In normal nightmares things are broken up, scattered and drifting. Fragments come and go; one minute you run and the next you're somewhere entirely new with a monster ready to nibble at your toes. But in Peter's nightmares, everything had actually happened. It was as if there was a part of him that never did forget, and at night, when Peter slept, it would scream as loud as it could inside his head. Peter's dreams were always made of memories, for the one thing he feared was reality.  
  
There was a cave in Neverland, filled with the blackness that can only ever be in a place that sees no light. The ink of the cave is so dark you can wrap it around your hand and bring it back out into the sunlight where is shines and goes translucent as if it is what shadows are made from, and perhaps they are. Peter has been there.  
  
In his dreaming memory he wanders back into the cave, past where the light shines on the floor at the entrance of it, past the trickles of water, sparkles of dust, and murk of half shade. Until at last his feet step into darkness so thick that it feels warm, as if it lives and breathes.  
  
It was there, separated by everything of the daylight, that Peter stood and shivered with an unknown terror. You could never bring a light with you into this cave, the instant the shadows touched it they at once snuffed it out in their fingers, or blew it till it guttered, swayed, and absented itself.  
  
Peter, ever curious if he had the time, wondered what lay in the back of all that darkness, what was it that breathed in his ear and ruffled his hair. Bravery had filled Peter with courage and he had been able to step forward, into the strange embrace of it, against its palpable skin.  
  
He had not called out and asked who was there, he did not stretch forth his hand to feel ahead, nor did he blink and open his eyes wide to see the nothing before him. Instead, and with what typically made him, he went forth with gentle steps and closed eyes, one hand to his dagger, the other to his lips.  
  
After a long and interminable time the black behind his eyelids became a red, silvers lines threading through it and etching paths. His foot bumped something solid and tall and his eyes snapped open to stare ahead at the image that lay before him. Above, a single solemn beam of light fell upon a strange nest.  
  
The nest shimmered and shone, reflecting not merely light, but images it had no right to hold. Inside the nest, buried beneath strings and threads, sharp silver rocks and deep blue crystals, lay a boy.  
  
Peter carefully reached inside it, touching the shoulder of the boy, fingers finding warmth there where none was expected. His hands had felt a beating when he touched the chest of the boy, his fingers relaying heat and breath. Then, so slowly it was barely noticed, the boy's eyes had opened, green with the fires of emeralds, slitted and sly, and by far too familiar a thing.  
  
It is always at this point that Peter snapped awake, the nightmares running away, forgotten with the opening of his eyes. Except on that night, the image still lay before him, teasing him from within the memory. In the faint light left before the dawn, a pair of green eyes with a damp luster stared at him, lips curled into a knowing smirk.  
  
"It was you," Peter accused, before the nightmare slipped away entirely. "It was you in the funny nest of glass, I know it was you."  
  
Nap's lips rounded only at the corners, a ghost of a smile. "No," he said simply, rolling as if to turn away, Peter's hand clutching at his shoulder preventing a full revolution.  
  
"Yes, I know it was you."  
  
"No," Nap said again, struggling to turn away. He wanted to go below, fall into Peter's bed and try to forget, but Peter's fingers dug into his shoulder, the nails biting.  
  
"It could only have been you," Peter hissed, "who else would be in my image?"  
  
Nap suddenly smiled, a truly heartless smile, savoring the word he uttered next as if it were syrup on his tongue as it slid off. "You."  
  
Peter's eyes widened, mirrors showing his own face smiling back at him, and then they shattered, tears of shock and bewilderment sliding down his cheeks like tiny molten stars. His chin trembled, and he whispered a single, soft, "no."  
  
Delight was in Nap's countenance as he moved closer instead of trying to escape, fascinated by the emotion on Peter's face. "You don't know, you can't remember it, except when the night falls over you and the dreams come. And now you look at me and you know the truth, don't you?"  
  
Peter shook his head rapidly back and forth.  
  
"It was you, you found yourself, buried beneath shining stones of silver, breathing and staring back at you. And it was reflected a hundred times more, each one of you the same."  
  
Nap's lips jerked upward at the corners as if pulled by strings. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, which terrified Peter all the more than a shout would have and sank beneath his skin like blades. "I'm your nightmare, aren't I, Peter? I'm the thing you most fear." He reached out, gently palming a soft, wet cheek, his eyes almost tender. "I'm what happens when you can no longer forget."  
  
Mutely Peter's lips moved, opening and shutting without a sound, though they formed the word 'no' over and over again. He tugged without strength and tried to break free, but with just the hand cupped to his cheek he found himself rooted and unable to escape. Nap moved closer, his hand sliding down and curling around a shoulder, leaning to press his forehead against Pan's. "I wonder what would happen if you remembered this. This most terrifying thought of all, not that you will remain forever alone, but that instead, you will never be alone." His breath touched Peter's cheek; his eyes alight with curiosity, his hand as light as air.  
  
He could feel it then, as if a cloudbank were lifting from his mind, as if the heaviness and pressure were finally going. A black swirl of memory could almost be seen if one looked close enough, gliding from one head to the other. Nap's mind felt hollow for a long moment, and the light in Peter's eyes seemed to die, banked in memory, before it flared.  
  
Nap reeled back, as if struck, another heavy thought filling the void of the one that had left, and in his mind and on his body he felt fists and feet. Blows rained down on him, though he seemed to give as good as he got, and for each bruise he gave one in return. He fell from the sky then, his eyes opening wide as he saw his own face, his hands clutched at his own neck. With a deep shudder he came back from the memory, his eyes narrowing in anger. For it had been his fight with Peter he had remembered, only from Peter's side, and now he recalled both. It twisted inside his skull, unable to reconcile. Two memories bobbing and weaving separate yet the same. One Peter's, one Nap's, and it was far worse than having merely one side of Peter's memories. They confused each other, getting tangled and torn, fitting awkwardly together. Nap whimpered in a high wavering shiver of sound, drew breath, and wailed.  
  
The shriek of horror bounced off the water, it wailed along the paths of the fairies, it bawled endlessly louder, until it was joined by another voice, the same voice. Then, in a tide of volume it rose until it was nearly soundless.  
  
And then, just as piercingly as it had begun, it stopped, everything going quiet in a rush.  
  
The two boys lay face to face; one of them still cried softly, the other seemed frozen in place as if some part of him would tear the moment that he moved. Slowly, Peter wiped away his tears and reached a hand out to just touch Nap's face, fingertips leaving trails of moisture in their wake. "Nap?"  
  
The other boy remained still, his eyes not moving, frozen on a precipice of sanity, a yawning void below him.  
  
"Nap?" Peter tried again, none too gently slapping Nap's cheek. "I'll take it back," he said in a broken voice. "I'll take it back if you do." He did not want to know what he knew now, did not want to recall the cave, the other Peter, and the knowledge that he was not the only one. He couldn't understand it; too many holes lay open before his wandering mind, too many questions, too many answers hidden in the corners.  
  
Nap's mouth slowly twitched, and then stretched into a rictus of a smile. In his eyes was Peter's face, and as he tumbled backwards over the ledge in his mind, he saw Peter's face grow farther away, a hole at the top that got tinier as he went. Until at last it was but the spark in Peter's eye before everything went black.

-tbc-


	6. neverrememberland 6

Title: NeverRememberLand

Author: ClarySage

Reviews: Please

Rating: pg-13 later R, after that, probably nc17 and over at aff.net

Disclaimer: I don't own the original story, but I do own this, though I make no profit, phooie.

Warnings: This fic contains: weirdness, wordiness, Peter Pan, someone else who you'll find out about soon enough, Neverland, and is based on the book in all its glory.

Nap drifted within a blank world, in and out of sunlight and darkness. It was some time before he realized it was tree shadows over his eyelids that did it, waving in the breeze, leaving his face at once in sunshine, then shade, then sunshine.  
  
He'd survived it then, that awful yawning darkness that had clawed at the backs of his calves, the drop into the shadows of his own mind. Sunlight meant he was still alive. He had a feeling he'd know if Peter were dead, and since no such feeling plagued him, he was sure then that Peter still lived. "Pity," he mumbled, finding his voice dry and parched, crackled like burned paper.  
  
A rustle to his side told him exactly where Peter was, and the following press of a hand against his chin and wash of cool water, let him know Peter was also paying attention. His eyes snapped open and he winced at the brightness that shifted over his eyes as he did so. Then he focused and saw Peter's worried face hanging above. "Still...remember it, Peter?" he croaked.  
  
Peter nodded, looking away quickly, one shoulder shrugging in an offhand way.  
  
"You don't like that, do you? Don't want to know the things I do?"  
  
Another shrug, followed by a quick glance into Nap's eyes. "It'll go away, it always does."  
  
"What does?"  
  
"Memory, I never remember anything for long." He leaned closer to Nap, a sly grin passing over his lips. "You don't like that, do you? You don't like that I can forget it all." His eyes glittered with green the colour of ancient glass. "I won't forget you though, not now."  
  
Nap growled, a dry sound low at the back of his throat, his fingers twitched weakly, ready to throttle as much life out of Peter as they could. All his strength seemed gone though, wiped away with his brief madness. "Not now," he repeated Peter's words softly, closing his eyes and relaxing back against the moss of the roof.  
  
After a moment of quiet Peter sighed and filled his cupped hand with water once more. It had worried him when he'd lost Nap, even for so short a time as it had been. He knew he'd had other people in his life, though he could no longer remember their names or faces, he knew they'd been near him. He could still feel the vague warmth of them against his skin, whispers of voices. To say Nap was different was like comparing one thing to something completely else. Nap was Nap, as Peter was Peter. There were no comparisons to be made.  
  
Peter drizzled the water cupped in his palm onto Nap's lips, watching as the boy lapped at it, obviously starving for the refreshment but refusing to help in any way with the drinking of it. Pan had never thought to examine himself, and so it was with a shiver of curiosity that he studied Nap, slowly letting his eyes rove from hair to toes. He stared for a long time at Nap's feet, stretching out his own to see if there were any differences, but even the smudges of dirt beneath his toenails looked the same.  
  
He wondered about the cave, he'd been trying not to think about it, willing it to go away again and leave him in peace. There had been the other Peter, the other boy. Was this him then? Was Nap the other Peter? Or was that strange nest still there? Still buried within Neverland and waiting for him? And that was where Peter would stop thinking about it, because it hurt too much to go on with the thought. It was after all a treasure chest he did not care to open. He lifted his hand away from Nap's mouth at last, turning to the shell full of water he'd gotten. Nap's hand clasped his wrist, and he froze into stillness.  
  
"I won't try to kill you anymore," Nap whispered after a long silent moment of staring. "If I do, I'll remember it, and... and what if when I remember it, I remember it from your side?"  
  
Peter nodded, scooping up another handful of water. In truth he knew all about memories, and all about forgetting them, so he knew too on a small level what Nap meant. "All right, so, you won't kill me. But you refuse to be my boy, and you're not my shadow. What are you, Nap?" Peter paused, watching as Nap drank thirstily from his palm once more. "Are you me? Are you, you?" He grimaced and then asked in a nearly frightened voice, "Are you the other one?"  
  
"The other one?" Nap asked curiously, sitting up and reaching for the shell of water. He drank it down to the dregs and then let go of a long sigh of breath.  
  
Peter waited for a response and then tried again. "The other one, the one in the cave."  
  
"Cave?" Nap asked, and his forehead crinkled between his brows in absolute confusion. "Cave," he muttered softly, rubbing at his hair. "I should know this, shouldn't I? It was just there..."  
  
Peter sat back on his knees and tilted his head to one side, he hadn't expected this, he should have, but he hadn't. "You don't remember it anymore, do you?"  
  
"Remember what?" Nap felt his head begin to spin, not as if on axis but as if just the insides were twirling around and around in dizzying circles.  
  
"What do you remember?"  
  
Nap groaned and clutched at his skull. "I don't know." He shook his head hard, and then opened his eyes to regard Peter with a strange, shimmering fear in his pupils. He couldn't remember anything; it was all wiped away as if it were just writing on a slate, and now only a cool, clean gray surface stared back at him.

-tbc-


	7. nrl 7

Title: NeverRememberLand

Author: ClarySage

Reviews: Please

Rating: pg-13 later R, after that, probably nc17 and over at aff.net

Disclaimer: I don't own the original story, but I do own this, though I make no profit, phooie.

Warnings: This fic contains: weirdness, wordiness, Peter Pan, someone else who you'll find out about soon enough, Neverland, and is based on the book in all its glory.

Nap groaned and clutched at his skull. "I don't know." He shook his head hard, and then opened his eyes to regard Peter with a strange, shimmering fear in his pupils. He couldn't remember anything; it was all wiped away as if it were just writing on a slate, and now only a cool, clean gray surface stared back at him.  
  
"You're my boy." Peter smiled guilelessly at Nap.  
  
"I am?"  
  
"Oh yes, mine. My new...my lost boy."  
  
But even as Peter uttered the words, Nap knew somehow they weren't true. Something niggled at his memory, silver fish swimming just beneath the surface of his dark water. "What's a lost boy?"  
  
Peter frowned, "you are."  
  
"Obey you, never be the same as you." A shark of thought was diving after the silver fish now, jaws held wide.  
  
"Yes,"  
  
"No, no, I know you're wrong about this." The shark of memory suddenly dived after the silver splintered fish, and it all focused in Nap's head. Only now, when the picture fitted itself together again, it was changed. Nap could not say how, as he could no longer remember what it had been, but it was different, slightly askew. "The Lost Boys...I know them."  
  
"Do you? So do I," Peter said happily. He inched closer to Nap, making himself comfortable beside the other boy. "Tell me about them?"  
  
"I..." Nap felt a wave of dizziness and thought for a moment, "there's Slightly, and...and the twins..." he trailed off, uncertain. It seemed he did know these people, and yet, something was wrong about it, distanced.  
  
"Yes," agreed Peter, stretching out his legs and folding his arms behind his head. "And there's Curly, right?"  
  
"Is there?"  
  
"Oh yes," Peter nodded rapidly, "I'm sure there is."  
  
Nap glanced around, looking through the branches of the trees, craning his neck to stare at the sky above, then crouching down to peer over the edge of the roof. "Where are they?"  
  
"Why they're," Peter sat up, starting to point and then stopped, his hand dropping to his side. "I'm not sure."  
  
If Peter's mind had been a sieve with rocks in it, and Nap's was the bits that washed away, then imagine if the rocks were all poured together and then crushed and scattered amongst the two minds. You would then begin to understand what had happened, for as they had exchanged memories such a thing had occurred. Now both sat in a vague confusion, knowing that something was off yet unable to finger what it was.  
  
"They're with Wendy," Nap said after a moments thought.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"This is all very strange,"  
  
They looked at one another, mirrors of furrowed brows and softly bitten bottom lips.  
  
"I know you," they said together.  
  
"You're me, aren't you?" Pan asked, staring into Nap's eyes and seeing his own reflection.  
  
"I must be," Nap agreed easily, and for the first time since his arrival in Neverland, he smiled with an honest joy. "Yes, and you're me."  
  
"I am?"  
  
"You must be."  
  
Pan smiled in return, his expression mirrored in Nap's eyes. "Yes, I can see how you're right."  
  
Nap flopped backwards, the smile still on his lips. A feeling of relief swelled inside him, his mind in a warm cocoon of peace. "I remember now. I remember Wendy."  
  
Pan looked curiously at him. "Do you? I remember...thimbles."  
  
"Silvery buckets that are small?" Nap asked, looking with surprise at the other boy. "Why should you remember those?"  
  
"No, they're not small silver buckets at all, don't you remember?"  
  
"I suppose not, tell me."  
  
Pan leaned close, and said in a low voice, "they're something I remember receiving, but they're not tangible as a bucket would be."  
  
"What are they then?" Nap whispered back, curious as a basket of kittens left alone.  
  
"They're small, but..." Pan paused, wondering how to explain something he couldn't comprehend himself. All that remained was a feeling of it, a tentative grain of memory.  
  
Nap waited patiently, everything seemed somehow strange and normal all at once. As if this were what was meant to be. He could vaguely recall that once something else had been in his mind, but now it was wafting gently away, leaving behind something new, something different.  
  
If the boys were to be compared now, the findings would show that there was something different indeed. Before they had been opposites, directly placed across from one another, touching in thought only on the outskirts. Now, they were two halves of the whole, only retaining parts of memories between them, split. Each boy held a handful of sand.  
  
Pan shook his head at last, dumbfounded as how to explain. "I can't think of how to describe them, though I can give you one if you'd like?"  
  
"Alright." Nap held out his hand expectantly.  
  
Peter grinned and leaned forward. "It's not that kind of thing."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No, you can't hold them at all, they fly away much too fast."  
  
"They fly?" Nap asked, interest piqued.  
  
"Well, yes, but, they have no wings."  
  
"It sounds just as a riddle would."  
  
For response Peter merely leaned closer yet, and put a hand to Nap's cheek to hold him still while he gave him the thing he knew as thimble. But to Peter's surprise, it did not go quite as he remembered it. Somehow feeling seemed to be in it, as if the thimble could hold things after all. A spark danced off their mouths as they separated and jumped to the little moss roof, where it danced for a moment and then burst into flame, setting the roof afire.  
  
Peter's eyes widened as he took in the fire that jumped from the roof down to the little walls of his house, flaming as it went. "Best to move!" he yelled, grabbing Nap by the arm and flying straight out off the edge of the roof, where they hovered to watch the fire.  
  
Nap glanced at Peter from the side, and asked, "Does that normally happen?"  
  
"I don't know, I can't remember. What do you think?"  
  
"That was a kiss, not a thimble, and I don't remember it ever setting fire to anything before." Nap looked with uncertain eyes at the flames now enveloping the house in the tree. "At least, I don't think it has."  
  
"Nor I," Peter agreed, slowly lowering them to the ground where they stared upwards at the inferno of their home. "Do you think that happens to everyone when they give thimbles?"  
  
"Kisses, and I don't know."  
  
Peter thought for a long bit of time and then smiled a sly little smile. "We could find out?"  
  
"How?" Nap asked curiously, nudging with his toe a smoldering bit of branch that fell to the ground.  
  
"We'll go to the land beyond us and look in the windows for thimbling."  
  
"Kissing," Nap corrected.  
  
"What ever you say." Peter approved with a nod.  
  
Once more they stared upwards, the flames had grown hotter, and now the entire tree was a small self-contained inferno. Peter did not worry, he knew there were more homes to be found. Though he did find it strange that something as simple as a thimble could set fire to it all. "I think I shall miss it," Peter said softly.  
  
"I too," agreed Nap.  
  
And with heartfelt sighs they turned their backs on the little flaming green moss roof, and the pretty red walls, and flew towards the setting sun that led into the other lands.  
  
At first Nap wasn't sure if he could fly on his own, but then he found that if he stopped wondering he merely did and after that it was easy, a splinter of a happy thought was all it took, and a sprinkling of fairy dust from a passing fairy that Peter had asked. They were away before the sun had begun its journey for the night, and by the time they reached the lights of London it was dark as night often is, pitchy and gray with fog. Below their soaring forms lights twinkled hazily within buildings, and once in a while a shout or laugh could be heard coming from the more blindingly lit buildings.  
  
It was to one of these well-lit places that Pan decided they needed to go. He whispered in Nap's ear as they hovered over the roof of one looking down, watching people enter and leave, shouts and laughter coming in a rush whenever the door was opened, and then faint as the door would shut. "There is certain to be thimbles at a party."  
  
"Why do you think that is?" Nap asked, hovering close to Peter. Everything that had passed in the last few hours had seemed all to be vaguely familiar to him, and even now the building they spied upon seemed recognizable as well. It bothered him in a faint way, like a single bug bite in the middle of his back that he just couldn't seem to reach no matter how he twisted or turned to get at it.  
  
"Look!" Peter said in a sharp whisper, grabbing Nap's arm and peering over the edge of the roof with him. "See," he hissed.  
  
They watched as a couple stumbled out of the noise and light, turned, and melted into the shadows against the nearby alley wall. The boys peered at them through the dark, eyes wide and liquid as they tried to see what was happening.  
  
"It looks like they're..."  
  
"That's filthy."  
  
"They're using their tongues..."  
  
"They're licking each other!"  
  
Both boys made faces. "Maybe there are more people thimbling inside," Peter said quietly after a few moments of watching the couple below.  
  
"Do you think they're as..." Nap left it unsaid.  
  
"It doesn't look so bad," Peter offered, though it did make him feel funny watching. When always in his life not much had made him feel anything other than his vast capacity for joy. But this, it made his stomach wibble and wobble, and his gut clench strangely. "They might be, let's see."  
  
The boys drifted down towards the back of the house, lowering themselves until they could peep into the windows and between the curtains. Each one took a separate side of the wide backed house, peering into the windows that were spread on either side of what seemed a wooden beam of a spine.  
  
"Over here!" Nap whispered, gesturing eagerly at his window. Peter zipped over and they watched what was in the room silently together.  
  
Then Nap said, "That looks..."  
  
"Interesting," Peter finished.  
  
"But why are they doing it?"  
  
Peter thought for a moment and then recalled the Neverland forest. "I know!" he said excitedly. "Do you remember in the springtime of home, when the animals have babies?"  
  
"I think so." Though Nap felt as if somehow the memory were secondhand, borrowed.  
  
"They do things like this, to get the babies."  
  
They peered into the window again, watching closely. After another few moments Nap's brow furrowed and he asked. "How can they have babies?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I've never seen the animals in the forest do exactly this."  
  
Now they could hear some sounds from the room, low animalistic grunting noises that very much seemed like sounds the animals from Neverland would make. The noises rose and escalated until at last there came a few final hoarse shouts and then quiet.  
  
The boys waited, wondering what would come next, if anything, or whether it was all over. But then the figures within the room started moving again, doing something more familiar, and yet even stranger than before.  
  
Peter and Nap made no conversation now, engrossed in what was going on in the room beyond the window curtains.  
  
For Peter, it seemed as if he should know what it was he was watching. It did look like what the animals did in the forest before babies, and yet, off a tad.  
  
"I don't remember ever seeing two boys making babies," Nap whispered worriedly.  
  
"That's what's so different," Peter responded, nodding. He'd known it did look odd, but now he knew the reasoning. "Come on, let's go see another window."  
  
They separated and searched through the rest of the windows, but found nothing similar to the window with the two men in it. Eventually they came back to that window, watching, twin looks of confusion of their faces.  
  
"Why would they do that when they can't have babies?" Nap asked Peter, wondering if he knew the answer.  
  
Peter tilted his head, following the action through the window. "It looks quite odd, doesn't it?"  
  
"Do you think it hurts?" Nap was looking from the window to Peter as if, if he did it enough, somehow things might begin to make sense.  
  
"I don't know, it might." Peter's face screwed up into a grimace and then straightened into its normal smooth expression of interested boyish curiosity. "Let's go find another place, maybe we can hear a story."  
  
But though they searched from house to house it seemed no one was telling a bedtime story at the late hour. Eventually, bored with the games they played above the streets, and unable to find any other well-lit houses, they headed back for Neverland, home and the comfort it provided.  
  
As they flew, Nap pondered what they had seen and searched his scattered memories for similarities and differences. He could recall a few things that were the same, memories of the Piccaninny tribe and the occasional animal he'd caught at it. Though, he also noted the differences, which were a bit vast. Never before had he seen men do it, not as he'd seen in the window at the very least. And it certainly seemed immensely unlike thimbling, if not quite a bit more involved.  
  
Neverland at last glinted in the rising sun as they came in view of it, the island always finding Peter faster than it found any other child of its acquaintance. Though as the boys headed for the little house in the tree, they both slowed, recalling it no longer existed.  
  
"Where shall we go?" Nap asked, circling over the charred remains of the tree.  
  
"I remember, another place, under the ground, do you know it?"  
  
Nap frowned as he tried to remember and a small light went on in his mind. "Yes, it's over there I think." He pointed towards a darkened hollow of the forest that could just be seen peering at them from between the trees. A few fairies were scattered about, flitting between the trees like tiny human-shaped fireflies.  
  
The two boys landed, glancing around with narrowed eyes, Peter with his dagger out. There were no ragged breathing sounds of the animals, nor the occasional whine of hunger, instead the forest rang with peace and tranquility, frosted with moonbeams. They walked together amongst the scattered light that filtered between the branches, going through a patch of mushrooms into a clearing within a circle of large trees. There they stopped, eyeing the nearest. It was Nap who spotted the holes and pointed them out to Peter, who looked at them with interest and a strange sense of knowledge.  
  
"Come," he whispered, taking Nap by the elbow and dragging him towards a larger tree that held a single entrance. "This is my door."  
  
"Yes, I remember it," Nap said softly, staring at the blackened hole of an entrance, a shiver of remembrance for another place that looked similar etching its way down his spine. "There's a room below."  
  
Peter smiled, only half of it visible in the moonlight, the other half caught behind shadows. "This is where we lived."  
  
"Yes, with the Lost Boys," Nap returned.  
  
With staggered and careful steps they slowly entered the dark entrance side by side, the tree making room for both of them. The blackness of the hole banked downwards and turned and they found themselves in a room that seemed large and empty in the gloom. "There should be a candle nearby," Nap said in a hushed voice.  
  
"I remember." There was a soft scrape of sound and the room gradually came into focus within the tiny circle of candlelight. "I remember," said Peter again, "this was home."

-tbc-

the next part is nc-17 and located at www.adultfanfiction.net


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